


Gate 4A

by chxlseamae



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Long-Distance Relationship, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 13:48:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5787517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chxlseamae/pseuds/chxlseamae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"@michael5sos: u live in cali right? can u come get me from the airport in a few weeks? need someone i can trust lol"<br/>"@chelssma_: me??? i guess i can work it out for you."</p>
<p>When 19-year-old Marie Stone was asked to pick up her kinda-friend from the airport, she couldn't deny him a ride. After a weekend spent in her apartment, a weekend that felt far too short, she found out that she couldn't deny him anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gate 4A

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Welcome to my first fic. Like, ever. I tackled this idea as a thing I wanted to write for my best friend, so this is for her. Please let me know what you think!  
> \----  
> The Three Days Grace song playing, for those of you who didn't know by the lyrics, is called Goin' Down. You can listen to it HERE (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U9kpGNhrg-E), and the two minute mark is just a really wonderful note that I have adored since the album released waaay back during my freshman year of high school. Every time I've listened to it since I've been a fan of 5SOS, I've had this fantasy that Michael listens to that song alone in the car and nails that note every time, not just because he loves it, but because he can't keep it in. His voice would KILL any and every 3DG song and I pray every night that he'll cover them one day. But that's just me. *shrug*

On the other end of the phone was a standard pre-recorded voicemail message, the monotone of the robotic woman interrupted by the sound of a soft spoken boy saying his own name. Marie grinned to herself when she heard it, finding his sleepy-sounding accent to be quite nice when it was being layered with the rain beating against the roof of her SUV. The sudden shrillness of the recording beep brought her back to reality.

"Um, hi, Michael? It's Marie Stone, the girl you got in touch with on Twitter? Um, yeah, hi. I just figured I would give you a heads up about where I'll be. Apparently I'm supposed to be picking you up from Gate 4A, not Gate 4B. So. I'm in a matte black Rover. There will be loud metal music blaring, if you can listen for it over the awful storm we're having right now. So....yeah. Anyway, I guess, just buzz me when you land, so I know to be looking for you? I'll see you soon, uh, bye."

Yikes. Why was she so nervous? She is the one who agreed to it. It's not like she's meeting a possible Craigslist killer. She knows Michael...or...well, she knows of Michael. He followed her on Twitter over a year ago and they exchange kind words every now and again, lots of mutual likes on things that only the two of them seem to find entertaining, apparently. Plus, she's spent the last two weeks mentally preparing for this trip. Her social anxiety usually came in waves, but could be kept under wraps with a little green tea and a blunt. At least she remembered her tea.

She circled the airport four times while she rehearsed her introduction repeatedly in her mind, practicing her smile and adjusting her long blue hair in the rear view mirror, finishing the last of her tea in hopes that it would steady her voice. She finally figured out where to go when her phone started vibrating in her lap. She looked down at it and took a deep breath before answering.

"H-hello?" _Shit,_ she thought. _Way to go, stutter._

"Hi, Marie? This is Michael. Are you here yet?" His voice was tired, his accent thicker than normal. "I just got my luggage."

"Um, yeah. I'm right in front of the doors."

"Alright, I'm headed your way."

And with that, the call ended. Her hands trembled as they toyed at the frayed edges of her shorts and traced the year-old anchor tattooed on her right thigh. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly. Inhale, exhale. In, out. She glanced at her reflection a few times before reaching for her phone and pulling up her music library, pressing shuffle a few times and letting fate work its magic.

Marie's ears were met with the gritty guitars of a Three Days Grace song, and she instantly turned it up in an attempt to drown out her nerves. She put her head back against the seat, closing her eyes. She drummed along to the beat and muttered the tempting lyrics to herself while she waited for Michael. Before she could get halfway through the song, a few light taps on the window to her right caused her to snap out of her trance.

She looked over and was met with a pair of green...blue?...green eyes. She smiled gently, unlocking the door and rolling down the window. "Hi, do you need any help?" she asked, reaching to turn down the volume on her stereo. Michael shook his head and almost frantically motioned for her to stop.

"No, no, no, I love this song! Let it blare," he yelled, a huge grin spreading across his tired face. He bopped his head around to the rhythm, whisper-singing "you're goin' down, down, down" as he loaded up the back seats with two suitcases, a laptop bag, a guitar case and a jacket that he decided to shed on his way out the door. Marie didn't get how he could be alright in just a tattered Guns N Roses tour shirt with all this rain. She was freezing, and she definitely was kicking herself for not bringing her own sweater.

"Ahhh, man! This is the best part." Marie could hear the smile in Michael's voice when he said that, and she didn't even have time to register that he was already in the passenger seat before her hand bumped his, both of them instinctively reaching to boost the volume.

As she cranked it up, Michael's hands balled into fists as the two minute mark hit, and Marie stared in awe of the lilac-haired boy beside her when he belted out along with the song, his voice grizzly and nearly a scream, his fists punching up into the air with the crashing symbols. He kept going, playing the notes instinctively on his air guitar and headbanging, and Marie was lost in his dramatics. By the end of the song, he was laughing from somewhere deep inside and he buried his face in his hands, peeking out at her through his fingers like a child while she turned the volume down enough to hear him talking.

"I'm sorry. I really love that part, that whole song. All of their music is great, but Life Starts Now? That album...." he let out a low whistle, "Such a legendary album to hear when you're a 13 year old wannabe rock-and-roller. I can't ever hear it without losing my cool," he managed to explain, his sentences interrupted by his own nervous chuckles. His voice was suddenly much more alert and his own, a very different sound from the one she heard on the phone only ten minutes ago. Fate: 1. Marie's Chill: 0.

Marie's face and neck warmed up gradually as she watched Michael compose himself. Her eyes followed the movements of his hands as he rubbed them along his knees and then across his stubbled face, pawing gently at the back of his neck before cocking his head over in her direction. He raised a pierced eyebrow and sighed.

"Well. Anyway. Now that I've completely embarrassed myself. Hello there, I'm Michael Clifford. Pleased to finally and formally meet you," he said, reaching out for her hand.

"Marie Stone, formally," she said with a soft giggle, taking his hand. Marie came unwound a little at the feeling of the warm hand that gently shook her own cold one. Her eyes widened at the sight of a second hand, and she looked at Michael to see his eyebrows were furrowed in concern.

"Your hands are like ice!" He reached out and grabbed her hands, placing them on top of another before enclosing them in his own. He squeezed them tightly for a few moments while she giggled at the sight of her own blushing face reflected in the phone screen in her lap, and caught her pout when he released her from his grasp. The pout dissipated and the blush returned when she felt the rough material of Michael's denim jacket fall heavy on her shoulders. It was still warm from his own body heat, and all she could do was smile at him in gratitude before revving the engine.

"So, do you know where we are headed today, Mr. Clifford?" Marie asked, putting the car in gear and pulling off toward the signs for the highway. She heard the clicking of keys mix in with his slight groan of frustration.

"Yeah. Right. About that...." he began. "I actually don't know where to go. We overbooked tonight's show, so management is moving the gig to a bigger venue, but they were only able to do that by putting the performance off until tomorrow night." Michael's voice began to sound tired again, and he stopped to take a deep breath. "Basically, I'm kind of stuck. I booked maybe three or four plane tickets all at the same time before I knew about any of this. Since the boys found out about this whole thing before they booked their flight back to America, they were able to plan accordingly. They get extra time off and won't land here until tomorrow." He rolled his eyes at the statement and rubbed his face and neck again, his nervous energy thick in the atmosphere.

Almost too quickly, Marie blurted out the invitation. "Well, my roommate will be in Huntington Beach until some time tomorrow afternoon, so there's a free bed at my apartment if you really need it." She could already feel the headache coming on from the bitching that Mae was gonna do when Marie called her later to let her know about these new plans that she's gonna have to make. Her tensions eased at the sight of Michael's smile.

"Really? You're sure that your roommate wouldn't mind?" He asked. His voice was returning to normal again, and Marie couldn't let that end here.

"Absolutely! She's the greatest, she'll be totally fine," she replied, cruising absentmindedly. The next hour consisted of loud music, debates about the best pizza toppings, and devising a grocery list of American junk foods that Michael wanted to pick up for himself and the boys. It wasn't until he mentioned one of them that Marie remembered he was even in a band at all.

"Speaking of the boys, where is everyone?" Marie asked as they pulled into a Starbucks parking lot, glancing over at Michael as he shifted around to grab a pair of sunglasses from the bag behind him.

"Still in Bali. I left that trip early and went home to Sydney for a few days to see my family before the tour started. Also," he said, tugging the collar of his shirt down to reveal a bright red patch of skin that stretched across his collarbones. "I was sunburned to shit and I wanted to go be with people who I knew wouldn't try to smack it while I slept."

He laughed and shook his head as he put his sunglasses on, and the sight of him preparing to open the door reminded Marie that he wasn't just Mike, the Aussie kid who's been following her on Twitter for a year and needed a ride from the airport. He was Michael Clifford, guitarist for international punk band 5 Seconds of Summer, certified rock star. She felt a little sad about that, and she hoped it wasn't too obvious when she started talking again.

"Y-you don't have to go in, you know. If you don't want to. I mean. You just got off a long flight. I can run and get our drinks and you can wait here, or I can circle around to the drive thru line..." she said, watching a tired smile stretch across Michael's face.

"It's fine, really. I don't mind running into people. I love meeting fans and being stupid in front of the paparazzi. These," he said sweetly, tapping the frames that sat on his face, "these are to hide the luxury bags that are under my eyes right now. I haven't slept in a little over 36 hours and the last thing I need is to let my insomnia ruin someone's selfie with me because it made me look strung out," he chuckled. He reached across and patted Marie on the knee. "Thank you for the concern though, love. It means a lot." With that, Michael hopped down out of her SUV, heading for the jammed Starbucks.

Marie caught glimpse of a few photographers in SUV's similar to her own, parked around behind some trees, so she followed behind a few feet to avoid scandal, but Michael insisted she walk in next to him. "You nervous about those guys?" he asked as he turned around to face her, now walking backwards towards the coffee house, a hint of arrogance dancing in his voice.

"I mean, a little. Not for me, though. I don't care if I'm on the front page of some rag mag as 'The Secret American Sweetheart of Aussie Punk Guitarist Michael Clifford'," she said with air quotes, having stopped in her tracks and pulling Michael's jacket tighter around her shoulders. The rain had stopped, but the air was still cool. "They can gossip about me all they want. I don't have a fan base consistent of a bajillion teenage girls. But you have a reputation to maintain or something, right? Don't you have old men in a record label high rise out here that'll chew your head off for ruining your image by being seen with some tattooed stranger with blue hair?" Marie motioned up and down at herself to emphasize her point, but blushed when she noticed Michael's eyes already scanning her.

He walked up to Marie, shit-eating grin plastered across his face. "I'm not worried about it at all," he said. "To most of the people in that high rise, I'm a tattooed stranger with purple hair. I have an accent and an instrument, so there are a few girls who would be a little heartbroken by the news, but I don't mind it. Like, we even match," he said, smiling as he gently placed his left thumb next to Marie's thigh, displaying his own little anchor. "Management would rather me be seen with someone who looks like me than with some innocent-looking blonde, because I'd probably get accused of trying to ruin her by all these Suburbia housewives." They laughed out loud in unison at the ridiculous but completely accurate statement. "Heaven forbid I drag some young flower out of Bieber's wholesome lifestyle of yachts, models and trap music in order to convert her to the 'dark side' of sex, drugs and rock and roll," he said, same arrogant attitude from before now on full display, "because there's clearly a difference between the two. His cross tattoo excuses him from all that while my 'demonic symbolism'," he motioned to the video game logo on his right arm, "that makes me a hellion."

Marie was still laughing at it all when she saw Michael pull his sunglasses down to wink at her before throwing his arm around her shoulder and leaning down to plant a solid kiss on her cheek, his stubble grazing her jaw when he moved away, causing her to shiver. He threw his head back in laughter at her gasp, and just shrugged. "I wouldn't mind my first real Hollywood scandal to be with you, anyway," he chuckled,and they started walking again, steps perfectly in time with one another. "Just go with it." He moved his hand from her shoulder to grab her hand as they approached the door, and he swung their interlocked fingers back and forth playfully for a few seconds before letting go so she could walk in. She admired his bravery, and she instantly missed the feeling of his fingers tangled with hers when they separated.

Within moments of being in the doors, two young girls between the ages of 14 and 17 had recognized Michael. The tall blonde gasped audibly from across the room and fangirled to her smaller dark-haired friend, who then began to cry. Marie looked to him as if to silently ask what to do, and he just smirked and said to stay put. She watched him make his way across the room to greet the teenagers with a wide smile and open arms, into which they happily threw themselves. He squeezed both the girls tightly before offering to take pictures. Four selfies, two silly group photos, and fifteen minutes of deep conversation later, he gave a final embrace to each girl, gently pecking the tops of their heads and then waving goodbye. He returned to Marie with letters in his hands, and man, was he glowing.

"That was sweet of you to go see those girls," she whispered. "You know that you just made their entire life, right?"

"Well, I wouldn't say I'm THAT special, but..." he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck and adjusting the shades on his face.

"Not that special, huh?" Marie said with a smile, pointing in the direction of the fans. The girls were consoling one another while on their phones, calling whoever to cry about the fact that they just met their hero. Their giggles and squeals could be heard from where Michael and Marie stood in line. Marie's heart was full, and she couldn't contain the swelling in her chest when she watched the way Michael lovingly looked at the pair before looking back to her and grinning.

"I couldn't pretend that I didn't see them. I was gonna wait until after we ordered, but once the smaller girl started crying....I had to go talk to her. They're really nice," he replied. "THEY made MY life."

As they approached the registers to order, Marie watched the young barista behind the bar as his eyes widen in awe. He looked like he might be the same age as Michael, or possibly a little older. Two full traditional sleeves stretched across dark brown skin and on his neck resided a small tattoo - simple tally marks. She was hit with an overwhelming mixture of feelings at the sight of Michael's band logo permanently on someone's body, and she watched silently as Michael introduced himself and acknowledged the ink. They talked about music, rock and roll, and learning new guitar riffs.

"You inspired me to start playing again after all the years of telling myself I wasn't good enough! It's such an honor, man," the boy said to Michael. He just grinned, reaching across and shaking the young man's outstretched hand, then replied with a hushed "thank you", sounding almost as if he didn't think he deserved the praise. It wrenched at Marie's heart.

They sat together quietly for a few minutes while waiting for their drinks, and Marie, lost in a painting on the wall, was snapped out of her trance by the gruff sound of Michael clearing his throat. She watched him fiddle with the collar of his shirt before he started to speak.

"You know," he began, "I don't think I've ever been able to sit this still and stay this quiet for this long ever in my life. It's nice though," he smiled. "It's nice to have a break from the loud and crazy and just get to be human, even if it's only for a few minutes."

Marie blushed. She was well aware of how kind he could be, but she's officially convinced herself that Michael was precious cargo. Her thought process was interrupted when he started back up.

"You know that's why I asked you directly, right?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, puzzled.

"The ride from the airport. I know there are easily a hundred thousand fans near LAX that would've been willing to do this for me if I would've tweeted about it, but I messaged you directly because you're NOT a fan. Or, at least you're not a fanGIRL," he said, stammering a little by the end. He rubbed the back of his neck and Marie could see the blush creep upward to his face. "You weren't gonna scream and cry the moment you saw me, or try to kidnap me...that's basically what I mean. Plus, there's no better way to get to know someone that you want to be friends with than going on a road trip with them." He paused. "Or having a sleepover, I suppose."

Marie felt her stomach tie in knots. _Right. A sleepover. Oh my god. Michael. He was sleeping at her apartment tonight. What? Why did she even offer that? That was stupid. What even is life right now? She's wearing the denim jacket of the world's kindest guitarist and he's spending the night with her. Be friends? He wants to be her friend? He wants to get to know her? God, what if she says something weird, or gets too deep too soon?_

The young barista's voice boomed out their names and snapped her away from her nerves, and she shot another sweet smile in Michael's direction as they got up to grab their drinks. Catching a glimpse of Michael's cheeky expression, she raised a confused eyebrow at him before he quickly linked their arms together and he ran for the door, dragging her behind his fits of laughter. They ran all the way to the car before he let her free, and she let him pick the music and ramble about tonight's plans for the next hour and a half that they would take to get to her apartment.


End file.
